


A Shadow on the Heart

by Moorishflower



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Dwarven Culture, Elvish Culture, Interspecies, Lore - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Thorin's death in the Battle of Five Armies, Fili ascends the throne to become King Under the Mountain while his little brother grieves in silence. A surprise visit from the Elves of Lórien for his brother's coronation finds Kili desperate to return to some semblance of normalcy, but his decision to involve Haldir, the marchwarden of Lady Galadriel, leads to more than just his own amusement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They were carried from the battlefield on the backs of their brothers, shieldsiblings and companions all, the fine Dwarves of their little company. Kili was certain that this would be his end, for he could feel the blood matted in his hair but he could not feel the many wounds that felled him. It was much like frostbite, he thought: it was when you could no longer feel the pain that you must truly start worrying.

But for himself he worried little; all of his energy went to his uncle and his brother, whose bodies he had tried to cover with shield and paltry limbs. Fili had laid there beneath him, quiet as the dead (he cannot think that), breathing so shallowly that it appeared as though time had stopped (he mustn’t think that). Thorin had lain beside him, and even in the midst of battle—perhaps especially so—Kili had seen his majesty and his proud bearing and thought that there was no finer Dwarf, and no other that he would have as his king.

Away from the fighting, though, and with most of the bloodshed finished, he found that they all three of them were much diminished. Thorin was the most grievously injured, having taken so many blows about the face and neck that his skin appeared blackened, while Fili, despite his stillness, ought soon be fine. None of them had escaped unscathed, but they were all alive and would be well, and Kili thought he would look forward to the coronation…and their little burglar’s explanation, once Thorin’s gold-madness had run its course.

But in the morning they were moved to a different tent, and tended to by grim-faced shieldsiblings who would say nothing of their king’s health. Fili had his arm bound in a splint, and Kili was not allowed to move for fear that he would aggravate his stitches or upset his broken ribs. In the dimness of the shadow of Erebor they listened, as though they might hear their uncle’s pulse if they were only quiet enough. Separated by their cots, Kili nonetheless reached across the gap for his brother’s hand, and Fili took it readily. They were not so old that they would refuse each other comfort in these dark times.

Thorin lasted a week. It was long enough for Baggins to return, to ask forgiveness, to receive it. It was long enough for lines of succession to be drawn, options weighed.

  
It was long enough for Fili and Kili to say good-bye. Upon the doorstep of their ancestral home, Thorin II Oakenshield asked to be carried out of his tent, that he might look upon the Lonely Mountain with unhindered eyes. In one hand he held the hilt of Orcrist, and with the other he groped until Baggins stepped forward and took it.

“You were a fine burglar,” he said. His throat was choked with something, something that obscured his speech. Bilbo had to lean close to hear. “Forgive me. Forgive the madness of the line of Durin.”

His eyes tracked sightlessly across the milk-pale sky, until they landed, at last, upon Fili, his arm all done up in bandages, his hair tangled and stained red in too many places to count. “Fili, son of Dís,” he said, “daughter of Thráin, son of Thror. Now do I name you my sole heir, King Under the Mountain until the end of your days. May you rule fairer and wiser than I ever could have. Fili, Kili, oh, my boys…”

Thorin fell silent. His hand in Bilbo’s clenched, and then relaxed; his eyes had slipped closed, and it was as though he had merely gone to sleep. Fili made a sound like wrenching metal, and he fell to the ground and beat it with his fists until Dwalin and Bifur hauled him up by the armpits and carried him away. Kili remained, and while Bilbo clenched at Thorin’s hand Kili reached out to comb his fingers through the fine hair, and the beard that would never hold the braids of Durin’s Folk or the decorations of the King. He brushed it back from Thorin’s eyes, and wept upon the dusty ground.

They held a great funeral for Thorin, King Under the Mountain, and in the shattered great hall of Erebor they committed his body to the flames of Aulë. Fili could not contain himself until the end, and needed to be led away by Balin, but no one doubted that he would make for a fine ruler. Indeed, Kili envied his brother’s ability to grieve, for he himself felt as though a cork had stoppered him up. Perhaps he would build up enough pressure to force himself open, but that was not to be this day, not with his uncle’s flesh curling and his bones blackening, filling the hall with the stench of death. They stood ringed around Thorin’s pyre, the Company and a few of Dáin’s folk. Pledged they were to the rebuilding of Erebor, but wary, too, of intruding upon such a private moment. Dáin himself was also in attendance, but, like Fili, found it difficult to bear, and so left not long after.

Kili and Bilbo were the only ones to remain until the end, even after Gandalf had vanished into the winding corridors, in search of something only a wizard would find use in. Kili suspected that the Hobbit grieved as deeply as any of their Company, and so he did not begrudge him the chance to weep.

There came no sobs, however. No wailing or gnashing of teeth. Bilbo merely looked weary, and haggard beyond his years. His silence was a blight upon Kili’s already heavy heart; so used to noise, was he, and song, and jesting. The sound of he and his brother indulging in the frivolity their uncle had not allowed himself. To think on his brother made his heart squeeze as if in a vise, and so he turned his thoughts away.

“Will you return to the Shire, then?

Bilbo’s eyes, when he raised them, caught the flicker of smoldering coals. His voice was tired as he said, “I suspect so. There’s nothing to keep me here, is there?”

“You are welcome to stay. To help us rebuild.”

“Even after what I’ve done?”

  
Kili bit his tongue, refusing to say _yes, yes, even after what you did, for this is all your fault_. It was not, and he knew it. The fault could be placed squarely on the shoulders of Thorin’s gold-madness, that which had taken his grandsire and which now laid claim to him. There was a curse upon the line of Durin, but it was not Bilbo Baggins. “Even so,” he allowed himself. “Uncle forgave you, and you know that we are fond of you. If you stayed, we would find a place for you. Balin shall need help organizing the old archives, I think.”

Bilbo smiled at him, but it was a shadow of his old grin. “I…thank you, Kili. But I can’t. This, all of this…” He gestured towards the vaulted ceilings, and then his arm fell limply to his side. “It’s your home, not mine. And without Thorin…”

“Ah,” Kili said, and Bilbo explained no more. The hall was dark and silent; any sounds of Dwarves or Men were muffled by Erebor’s stone walls. Kili had never felt so alone in his life. He wanted to seek out Fili, to huddle in his arms as he had when he was a wee dwarrow, to shake and rage until things were right again.

But things would not be righted, not from this. With a finger he nudged aside a burning coal, and dipped his hand into the ashes upon the pyre. Bilbo watched with a horrified expression as Kili took his darkened palm and first licked it, and then carded his fingers through his hair, until the ash was spread evenly throughout. Fili would do this later, for as King it was his right, but Kili found that he could not wait.

“Dare I ask?”

Kili took up three strands of his hair, beginning a simple mourning knot. “Do you not honor your dead, Master Hobbit?”

“Yes, but with…with stones, and statues. Flowers, perhaps.”

“Flowers.” Kili wrinkled his nose. “Though a statue shall be made in uncle’s honor. Perhaps we are not so unalike.” Though he did not braid his hair as Fili did, every Dwarf knew the make of a mourning knot, and his fingers were deft under Bilbo’s scrutiny. “We are the heirs of the King, and it is our duty to carry on his legacy. The burden falls heaviest upon Fili, but we will share much of it, Aulë-willing. So we take in uncle’s…” He could think of the word in Khuzdul very easily, but he did not think that Westron had a proper term for it. “His purpose. And we take in all that he succeeded in doing, and all of his failings, and so it shall be until our line is extinguished.”

Bilbo said nothing, and for a time Kili thought that he had offended the Hobbit. He knew that Men had strange ideas about their dead, and how to treat the bodies and what to do or not do with them, but he knew nothing of Hobbit funerals. And indeed, Bilbo at first looked scandalized, but then his expression smoothed back into grief.

“I shall miss him,” he said. This seemed to encompass everything he felt, or that he was going to feel, on the subject of the late King. “I believe I shall miss him my whole life through.”

  
“In this,” Kili answered, “you are not alone. Come.” He finished his knot quickly, tying it off and then clapped his clean hand to Bilbo’s shoulder. “We will find you a place to stay, until you feel up to the journey back to the Shire. And should you wish to aid Balin while you are here, I am sure that your help will not be amiss.”

Behind them, the pyre of Thorin Oakenshield smoldered in the ruins of a once-great kingdom, until, finally, the last coal winked out, and darkness fell in the great hall of Erebor once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Fili would not hear of Bilbo, nor Gandalf, leaving before his coronation. On this he would not budge, though both Balin and Dain made an attempt to convince him otherwise, claiming that a coronation would require time and a great deal of planning. But Fili was, according to Balin, as stubborn as his uncle, and Gandalf was of no help, for he agreed to remain longer with no prodding at all. Bilbo was a tougher nut to crack, but as winter would soon be upon them, and travel made all the more difficult, he soon relented, much to the delight of the rest of their Company.

Reconstruction was their first concern, and with the treasury no longer guarded by a dragon there was no need to be frugal in their spending. Over the years the wealth of Erebor had increased, for Smaug had brought with him plunder from countless other hoards, and with the original owners either dead or long forgotten, they none of them felt any guilt in utilizing what was to hand. Fili ordered softer stone brought in from distant climes, and with the help of Bofur they organized some of Dain's folk into a small mining force. The forges were lit once more, and, with Bofur at its head, the mines of Erebor produced iron, gold, and silver aplenty. The smithies rang with the sound of hammers and chisels, the heartbeat of the Dwarves reawakened, and over the course of several weeks the great halls of Erebor were restored. The first day that they were able to eat in the Grand Hall was one of feasting and jollity, and Dain's folk brought out their pipes and their drums, and Bombur commandeered the kitchens to prepare a fine feast. By then their numbers had swelled to several hundred Dwarves, and not a few Men from the ruins of Lake-town, who, after being allowed their share of the dragon's plunder by Fili, had decided that it would be worth their while to serve as a connection between the Dwarves and the merchants and laborers outside of Erebor.

They sang and feasted and told stories well into the night, with more than a few Dwarves fascinated by Bilbo's tales of the Shire. Kili listened as well, for he had been there only briefly, and from Bilbo's accounts he found the place to be a quaint, if unusual (by Dwarven standards) place that was nonetheless full of its own feuds and adventures. Bilbo's story of his great grand-uncle, Bandobras Took, and his role in the Battle of Greenfields had many a Dwarf rolling upon the floor in laughter, for they all of them appreciated a well-told tale in which a goblin was violently dispatched. Kili, for his part, told Dain's folk of the trolls they had encountered on their journey to Erebor, and how Bilbo had stalled for time by telling the trolls that they were infested with parasites, and then how Gandalf had caused an argument between them by throwing his voice. Fili was quick to mention that Kili's parasites were, indeed, the largest of their lot, but Kili didn't blame him, for he was far in his cups and was still grieving their uncle's death.

Kili grieved as well, but his was a silent affair. He was not the king, and so he felt beholden to no Dwarf but himself, which suited him just fine; he had never been very good at taking responsibility. If Fili had not taken the crown, or if he had perished in battle, Kili did not think he would be able to ascend the throne, lines of succession be damned. He would make a poor King indeed.

"Here, now," Bilbo said, and tapped his elbow until he accepted another mug of ale. It was watery stuff, brought in from merchants who had not yet realized that Lake-town was still rebuilding, but if you drank enough of it it did the job. "What's the matter?" Bilbo, too, had partaken of the ale, but he was not so sloshed as Fili was. Still, he was rosy-cheeked and smiling beatifically, an expression that did not often cross the fussy Hobbit's face. "You look as though someone's stolen your sweetcakes."

"Nothing is the matter."

"Is it Fili? He seems well enough, but I know that Thorin's death…"

"No, 'tis not Fili. He will make a fine king, and I have no place to criticize him."

"Then what?"

Kili was silent for what felt like an age, made worse by the fact that Bilbo would not look away from him. He had always known the Hobbit through proximity to both his brother and his uncle, and to be alone with him now felt strange. But Bilbo was a pleasant enough fellow, most especially since he had loosened up a bit during their journey, and so Kili felt odd, but not uneasy when he explained. "I just…all my life I've lived in uncle's shadow, and Fili was there with me, because none of us ever thought that he could…that he wouldn't succeed. But now uncle is gone, and Fili is above me. I feel like all along he was a stalactite, and I a mere pebble."

"There's not a Man or Dwarf here that would call you a 'mere pebble,'" Bilbo said, apparently amused by the analogy. "Would you have yourself as king, then?"

"Gods, no! I've enough trouble deciding my breakfast in the morning, I can't imagine what it would be like to run an entire kingdom."

"So what, than? If not grief, and not jealousy?"

Kili thought on it for a while, and eventually decided that the truth was no worse than any lie he might come up with. He had never claimed to be clever, after all. "I think…it is loneliness. You must understand, we never knew Erebor, not as uncle and the others did, and so when we agreed to join his quest we did so because Thorin was all we had ever known. Our mother, she perished in the dragon's fire, and…" He trailed off, unable to complete his thought, but Bilbo, with a curious sort of wisdom, did not seem to need him to.

"It was only ever you and Fili?" Kili nodded, unsure of what to say. "But now Fili is King. He has responsibilities that do not include you."

"Aye, that's it exactly. It makes me seem like a mewling babe, does it not?"

"I wouldn't say so. If anything, I would say it makes you seem…older. In Hobbiton, there is the tendency to…to keep your feelings to yourself, but that only means that they come out later as gossip and feuds. Better the Dwarvish way, I think. To rid yourself of them when they are fresh."

"Aye," Kili said, but he wasn't sure if he felt it beneath his skin.

When the feast ended, and Dain's folk had been tucked safely away into half-finished guest rooms, Kili slipped away to find his own quarters. He had chosen to stay as far from the royal chambers as possible, though it had not been a conscious choice. Indeed, he rather regretted it this particular evening, for his mind was fuzzy with ale and his stomach growled like a wild thing. He told himself that he had been so distracted by the storytelling that he had forgotten to eat properly, and this seemed a plausible enough excuse as well, for he had done something similar in the past, becoming so wrapped up in his and Fili's jokes that caring for himself had become secondary.

In the safety of his rooms he undressed, setting thick furs and belts and his thin cotton tunic in seemingly-arbitrary places (he would not allow anyone to enter and clean, for he preferred an organized sort of chaos), and, stripped to his braies, he laid upon his bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

He was woken what felt like not even ten minutes later by a rough hand shaking his shoulder; he scrambled for his sword, until the bleariness of sleep cleared and he remembered that urgency was no longer needed. 'Twas only Fili standing above him, his hair now plaited in a king's braid, his beard decorated with fine little baubles. Kili raised a hand to touch his chin, as though thinking, but found naught but stubble. He dropped his arm to the bed with a disgusted sigh.

"And why did you sneak off like that?" Fili demanded. "Like a thief in the night? We were all of us looking for you; Bilbo said that you barely touched your food, and drank as though in a desert."

Kili thought that he would feel this last most keenly the next morning, but he judged it not much later now than when he had first fallen into bed. Fili must have gone and dunked his head in a rainbarrel, for he was far more sober now than he had been earlier.

"I would have made for poor company," he said shortly, and made an attempt to roll over. His brother was having none of it; he grabbed Kili by the shoulder and manhandled him into a better position for talking, Kili swearing and howling a storm as he did so. He only stopped when Fili took his knuckles and rubbed them roughly against Kili's hair, then grabbed a hold of his ear with thumb and forefinger.

"I'll have the truth from you, little brother, or I'll have your dainty ears, now which is it?"

_Dainty_. Kili felt a hot rush of anger that pooled in his belly like poison, and he threw off Fili's arm and his well-meaning intentions and his clever grin, now fading into startled worry. There in his chest, his grief and his dishonor and his shame uncurled like a sleeping fire-drake, and he scratched his blunt fingernails down his cheeks. He made a show of rubbing them afterwards, as though trying to sober up, but in truth if he could have clawed his skin from his awful bones he would have done so.

"Kili," his brother said, and he hated the braids in his brother's hair, and the beads and gold in his beard, glinting yellow as dragon's eyes, and he hated his brother's perfectly-formed face. He could not hate his brother, but Kili felt that if he could hate something other than himself ( _it ought have been you, the useless second son_ ) then perhaps he would feel a bit better.

He was wrong, of course. He never claimed to be clever.

"Kili, what ails you?"

He shrugged, and, because it looked as though Fili would not leave until his curiosity was satisfied, he added, "I miss uncle."

There was more to it than that. Bilbo had only scratched the surface, he thought, of what it meant to have your entire world revolve around two fixed points, and then suddenly to lose both of them: Thorin to death, and Fili to responsibilities that Kili could not--and did not want to--understand. He wished mightily that things could go back to how they were, that Thorin would be there in the morning to reprimand them for some silly prank and Fili would say that it was his idea, when in truth Kili was the one who had worked it all out. He wished, more realistically, that it had been him out there on the battlefield, his blood on the ground, his death. He would no longer have need of a purpose, then.

Now he drifted, and his ribs ached and his mind was clouded with grief, and he would have done with it if it were not for Fili.

"Oh, brother," Fili said, and embraced him as he had when they were children. "It shan't always be like this. The pain will ease, and we shall find you a fine set of rooms and a finer lass to settle down with. You'll have a dozen little dwarrows who shall wreak havoc around the mountain...And you will be captain of the guard! No dragon will dare attack Erebor with you at my side."

He clung to Fili like a babe, and did not have the heart to tell him that no fair Dwarven lass would have him, not with his small nose and tiny ears, not with his beardless child's face, not when his heart was silent as the grave.


	3. Chapter 3

Winter came down from the north like an ice-drake, fierce enough by far to match Smaug in his watery grave. Within a week the road from Erebor to Lake-town was all snowed over, and Dain's folk grumbled when some of them were given the task of clearing the front gate. Fili was scrupulous in the care of his new kingdom, however, and Dain inclined to agree with him; the mantle of leadership sat well upon his brother's shoulders, and Kili tried his best not to begrudge him that.

Plans for the coronation proceeded apace, with Dwarves drawing treasures from the mountain's innards in great heaps: silver, gold, and precious gems littered a the several halls dedicated to craftsmen, all hard at work for the great occasion. Kili was a dab hand at a forge, but the precision of decorative work had never sat well with him. He remained fascinated and bewildered by the delicate tools and the artistry of it, and he watched Ori trim velvet and sew furs with all the deftness of a master smith at his anvil. It seemed that every one of their company was hard at work doing _something_ for Fili's coronation; Bofur worked the mines and Bifur tended to the ceremonial blades, and Balin had scrounged up the schematics for Thror's great crown, and…

And Kili was doing nothing. He did not feel it in himself, that urge to move, to do, and he wondered if perhaps something had broken in him when uncle fell upon the blood-muddy ground.

He spent much of his time with Gandalf, when the wizard would have him (for even Gandalf was busy, making fireworks for the celebration after Fili wore the crown), and with Bilbo when he wouldn't. He found the Hobbit good company, considering his bleakness of mind, for Bilbo did not try to question him or force him to 'open up.' Beyond his original warning--that stoppering yourself tended to lead only to grief--he seemed quite content to allow Kili to work through things on his own. He also shared his pipe without comment, and when Kili said that he wanted to walk to the upper rooms, that he might find a balcony over which to look, Bilbo only hummed in quiet agreement, and followed him despite the long walk.

They found a suitable room after some searching, one of those still unrepaired, but the balcony seemed sound enough. Bilbo refused to step out on it, citing it as unnatural for a Hobbit to be so high in the air (not counting, he said, the Eagles), but he stood behind Kili as he looked down at the snow-covered ground far below, puffing away at his pipe, a comforting presence.

"Bilbo," he said, and the Hobbit grunted in acknowledgement. "If you could…change things. Make it so none of this had ever happened…would you?" He was not sure why he asked this question now, nor, indeed, why he asked it at all. He only knew that some version of it had been niggling at him since Fili came to his chambers those few weeks ago, waxing eloquent about how wonderful Kili's future would be if he only let go of the past. He had not told anyone of his misgivings since that time, for he did not think that any of those he knew would understand…but he remembered vividly his brief stay in the Iron Hills, and how his face had still been smooth as a child's rump, despite how when Fili had been his age his beard had already come in, gold and glorious. A lass there had invited him to take supper with her; he'd thought her interested, and his heart had wanted to burst from his chest with delight. But when he had arrived, he had found naught there but a dead fire, the ashes long since cold, and the next day he had heard a group of children giggling over his misfortune. A proper Dwarf would have a full beard by now, would have a fine, royal nose and perfectly rounded ears and a square jaw, but Kili had none of those. He had felt himself to be a blight upon Durin's line, until Fili had dragged him off by his hair and convinced him to help raid the kitchens for sweet honey-cakes and candied nuts.

There was no one to do that for him now. Only Bilbo, silent for a long while behind him.

"You mean the quest," he said finally. Kili did not answer, but Bilbo seemed not to need it. "I…you know, despite everything that's happened, all the…the death, and the destruction…No, I don't think I would change things. Perhaps if I could have somehow saved Thorin, or kept him from his gold-madness, then yes, but if it meant never having come along at all, well. It was too grand an adventure, and I would not do him the disservice of wishing it otherwise." The silence reasserted itself, until Kili felt a cautious hand on his shoulder, thoug Bilbo was quick to step back into the safety of the room. "Would you?"

"Would you think me terrible if I would?" Bilbo did not answer. "A home is not meant to be empty, Bilbo. You cannot fill the rooms with gold and jewels and call it good."

"You still have Fili," Bilbo reminded him. "And Ori, Dwalin, all of the others…"

"But they have no need of me." He alone had not found his niche. He alone continued to live off of the good graces of the king. Were he not Fili's brother, how long would he last before he was ignored? Scorned?

Asked to leave?

"That's not true," Bilbo protested. "You've much to offer. When the mountain is whole again, who will be there to protect it if not you and your bow?"

Who indeed? Who, when every one of their number was a warrior by practice if not by training, and more experienced and learned than he? Where had this foolish notion of himself as a guardsman come from in the first place?

He suspected a wizard's trickery behind this, but did not say so to Bilbo, for his eye had caught upon movement beyond the balcony. He leaned over the railing, causing the Hobbit to audibly gasp in alarm, but his view was obscured by the side of the mountain. He could not make out specifics, but he had seen enough. "A messenger at the gate!" Bilbo smiled, reacting to the excitement in his voice. Excitement, yes! One minute empty, and the next weighted, if not filled entire. Kili sprung back from the balcony and grabbed up Bilbo's hand, pulling him along despite his protests. "It might be that merchant, the one who swore to return with some proper drink!"

"As though that's stopped you in the past!" But his excitement was infectious, and by the time they reached the entry hall they were both winded and giggling like children. It was good to see Bilbo so relaxed, to see the lines of grief fade from his eyes, if only for a short while. Soon he would once again look melancholy, pining for both home and lost friends, but for now he looked whole years younger, and Kili almost didn't feel quite so alone.

They were not the first to have reached the front gate; Fili had gotten there ahead of them, greeting the messenger with a kingly presence that Kili knew he would not have been able to master in a hundred years. He was dressed, not in a ruler's finery, but in a warrior's mail, though closer inspection revealed that the armor was somewhat useless, as it was made, for the most part, of silver and moonstone. Fili had refused to wear the velvet robes and jeweled belts of Thror, blaming the gold-madness not only on Durin's blood, but upon a tendency for excess that he was determined not to emulate. That the mail was all fine silver had been Dain's demand, and so now Fili spent long hours down in the smithy, being fitted for this or that trinket, scowling all the while. The opportunity to great a messenger himself must have come as a relief.

The messenger, from what Kili could see, was tall enough to be a Man, which made him hopeful that his original theory of a traveling merchant was true. Then the figure pulled back its green-grey hood, revealing pale skin and smooth cheeks and delicate, pointed ears. Not a Man, but an Elf had come calling on them this day. He (or possibly she, Kili found it difficult to tell what with their lack of beards) did not wear the colors and armor of the Mirkwood Elves, which was good, for he suspected that Fili still felt some enmity for them over being locked up in a dungeon. Instead, the messenger wore a flowing tunic and trousers in shades of silver and grey, and he did not speak with the lilting accent of Thranduil's people when he raised a solemn hand and said, "Hail Fili, son of Dís, Lord of Erebor and King Under the Mountain. I bring a message from Galadriel, Lady of the Wood and guardian of Lothlórien." He drew from within his cloak a sealed roll of parchment, oiled against the thick snow, though, as Kili noted, the Elf did not seem to be plagued by the weather. His feet were clean, and only his cloak had traces of snowfall upon its shoulders.

Fili took the message, bowing his head (an act that seemed to surprise the Elf) and then breaking the seal. Red wax cracked and fell to the floor, and Fili absently brushed it away with his boot as he read. By the end of the message his face had gone a curious mixture of ruddy and pale, as though he were both pleased and aghast. "Is this true?" he demanded, and the Elf inclined his head. "Durin's beard, you Elves don't do things by halves, do you? Where is Balin! We've preparations to make, meals to plan!" He glanced Kili's way, and, spotting him and Bilbo loitering about, strode in their direction with the scroll clutched in his fist. "Here," he said, and pushed the parchment up against Kili's chest. He had little choice but to take it. "Brother, if you are not busy, would you show the Elf to a guest chamber? There is work to be done." He sighed mightily, and for an instant Kili saw a flash of his brother as he once was, unburdened by the weight of rulership.

"I look forward to the end of all this," he murmured. "Perhaps then we might be able to spend more than half a minute in each other's presence, hm?" He patted Kili's shoulder, then swept past them both and vanished down the hall. He and Bilbo were left standing uncomfortably in the entry hall, surrounded by attendants and armed guards, and a confused--or perhaps constipated--Elf.

Kili took the opportunity to read the scroll without being interrupted. It was in Westron, rather than Elvish, which he found to be a nice touch, but it was also full of flowery prose and fanciful terms, which he had no use for. He squinted at the parchment, and then handed it off to Bilbo, who cleared his throat and murmured to himself as he read it.

"What's it say?" Kili demanded, to which the Hobbit responded with rolled eyes.

"You didn't read it?"

"Of course not, it's too…embellished."

"It is at that. I suppose the gist of it is that the, ah, Lord and Lady of Lothlórien are going to be in attendance at your brother's coronation. They've set out from the Wood already with a small escort."

Kili swore, now understanding Fili's frustration; they had hoped that the coronation might be kept as small and private as possible, in deference to uncle's death and all they had lost, but it seemed that the rest of Middle-earth had other plans. Unlikely though it was that they would be playing host to the Lords of Gondor, now that word was out Fili had no choice but to prepare for anything and everything. Including, it seemed, more Elves than you could shake a hammer at. "How small?" he asked, and Bilbo scanned the remainder of the parchment.

"Some fifteen or twenty? From the sound of it they will mostly be warriors."

"All the worse, for a troop marches on its stomach. What do Elves even eat, anyway?"

All the while, their own Elven guest continued to stare at them, now more amused than stoic. "I assure you, regardless of our preferences we shall nonetheless be able to handle Dwarvish fare," he said, causing Kili's head to whip around in his direction. "Might I request, however, a place where I may remove my cloak? The snow is beginning to melt."

"Ah," Bilbo said, all of a sudden all propriety and good charm. "Of course! We'll show you to the guest rooms, won't we, Kili?" Kili muttered something noncommittal. "I'm sure your journey was a long one, especially in this dreadful weather. Kili, aren't you coming along?"

Kili grumbled, but could not, in the end, stand the Elf's look of amusement. He gently nudged Bilbo aside, and silently led the way to the guest chambers, both Hobbit and Elf trailing behind.


	4. Chapter 4

It took the Lórien Elves a full week to arrive, by which time the snow outside had piled up into great, white drifts, and all contact with the world outside had ground to a halt. Occasionally there was some emergency that required someone to venture out into the stinging cold in order to contact someone at Lake-town, but for the most part the mountain seemed to be holding its breath, silent and still.

On the outside, at least. In the fire-warmed chambers of Erebor, reconstruction of the city continued at a decent clip, and the plans for Fili's coronation were finally being put into action. With his ceremonial armor finished, Fili now spent most of his time helping one or another of their folk, occasionally making a nuisance of himself as he did so, but so intent on doing right by his people that no one really minded. Dwarves from all corners of Middle-earth were beginning to arrive in drips and drabs, despite the inclement weather; mothers and sons were reunited, cousins rediscovered, fine artists and smiths commissioned for rebuilding after laboring in the cities of Men for countless years. Fili was there to oversee it all, and all who looked upon him knew that he would be a fine king until the end of his days.

Kili, meanwhile, had taken an entire week to tidy up his quarters, which had become dusty and cluttered with things he had brought in from the rest of the city. And it had taken Balin's prodding to do even that, for if he were left up to his own devices he would have remained abed for hours at a time. There was little outside of his room that he found interesting; his life had ground to a halt.

Not even his beard was growing. Which it hadn't done for some years, but still, he'd rather hoped that maybe it had just been stress. Apparently not.

At the end of the week, before the Elves were scheduled to arrive, Kili was bullied out of his rooms by the combined forces of Gandalf and Bilbo and all but ordered to go out and socialize. He found himself wandering without any real destination, and found himself, quite by chance, in the makeshift market in the lower levels. Once it had been a bustling center of commerce, but their numbers were still small; likely when Spring came around, there would be a sudden influx of Dwarves from all walks of life, and they would have a proper marketplace again. For now, though, there were only a few storefronts, and a number of stalls containing everything from jewelry to Fall and Winter vegetables. He found a small smithy with a few arrowheads on display, nothing extravagant and certainly nothing that could not be matched by the royal forges, but he had been ordered to leave the grounds of the king, and so he had done.

He bent his head to more closely examine the wares, and was met by a sudden explosion of whispers from behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a few lasses clustered together across the way; they were looking in his direction and giggling to themselves. The one in the middle was particularly lovely, with fine auburn curls down to her shoulders, a small maiden's knot in her beard. Unattached, then, but not seriously looking; likely she had her own occupation on which she wanted to focus. Perhaps she was an artisan? Kili had been with a few partners, but Dwarf women were choosy at the best of times, and he had never held any hope of finding a wife.

"Isn't that the king's brother?" he heard, and tried not to frown. The reminder of Fili's new responsibilities weighed on him, and he did not like the prospect of only being recognized for his relationship to the king.

"Aye, that's he! You know, I heard he slew more than a hundred orcs on the journey to Erebor!"

"And twice as many goblins! Have you heard the story of Thorin's company in the goblins' lair?"

"I've heard a bit of it, but I had to take care of the babe and he started caterwauling just as dear Rudi got to the best part…"

That, he thought, was more like it. He did not know precisely how many orcs and goblins he had ended up slaying, but surely 'twas better to have your accomplishments discussed, rather than your lineage?

"…He's thinner than I expected."

What had been threatening to become a small smile froze in its tracks, trapping Kili's expression between amusement and a grimace. He stared pointedly down at the arrowheads, trying not to listen, unable to help himself all the same.

"He is, isn't he? But that's to be expected from such a young…"

"He's not that much younger than the king, though, is he? Late seventies, I would say. You know, my Uldo had a fine beard by the time he hit fifty!"

There was an appreciative murmur from the other women. The one with the lovely curls said, "You don't suppose he's sickly, do you? My ma said there's naught but two things that cause a thin beard, and that's illness and age."

"Or bad blood," another piped up. She was immediately shushed by her companions, but Kili had already heard enough. Fists clenched, he swept away from the smithy, breezing silently past the gaggle of women as he did so. His face felt as though it were made of stone; he heard one of them call out after him, questioning, but he refused to look back.

He returned to the royal quarters without bothering to make any more detours, sweeping past a handful of startled guards who made half-hearted attempts to stop him before they realized who he was. He encountered a few familiar places on his way to the Receiving Hall; Ori and Bilbo walked in soft conversation, both turning their heads to see him as he strode past. Bilbo made some attempt to call after him, a muffled "Hallo, Kili!" echoing down the otherwise empty hall, but it went unresponded to.

Kili moved with a purpose. He shoved open the doors to the Receiving Hall, and saw there, at the end, the great carven throne which ought have been their uncle's, but which now was being occupied by his brother. Fili, to his credit, was not decked out in finery, but was wearing his leathers and his cotton tunic and his traveling boots. Many of the baubles had been removed from his beard, and now only a few strings of jewels and etched metal marked him as the current king. Kili could not tell why, but noticing this calmed him considerably, and by the time he reached the throne he was not so much storming as shuffling. Fili's attention switched to him immediately, though Dain, who stood before him dressed all in velvets and polished gold, had not finished speaking.

"There is simply no need to cater to the whims of these Elves," he was saying. His tone was thick with disdain, as though merely mentioning them was somehow demeaning. "Give them supplies enough for the journey back and then send them on their way, and we shall have the coronation as is proper, with only our allies in attendence."

"Our belief that the Elves cannot be our allies has been the cause of far too much grief already. Once, they came to us in friendship. I would see that again."

"Have you forgotten why Erebor was lost in the first place?"

"Have _you_ forgotten?" Fili snapped back. "What army could have stood before Smaug in his prime? The Elvenking saw no possible victory. Perhaps he was wrong, but it is years past, and a good king must place the safety of his people above all else. Thorin believed it, before the gold-madness took him, and so should we. Now, please." He gestured, and Dain turned, noticing Kili for the first time. "We will discuss this further at a later date. I wish to speak with my brother."

Dain bowed deeply, his beard trailing on the polished floor, and he exited looking chastened. Though Fili did not speak with fine words and artful twists, he nonetheless conveyed his precise meaning with a passionate and youthful charm. He had not outright accused Dain of being unkind, nor had he accused him of not caring for his people, but he had made the suggestion, and it had been enough to silence the old Dwarf's rage-filled tongue. Perhaps now he would retreat and think upon what happened. Kili didn't know. He didn't care much for politics. That the Elves were coming meant only that it would be more difficult for him to be alone when he most wanted it.

Fili stood from the throne, the Arkenstone gleaming above his head, but ignored in favor of embracing his brother. "Kili!" he said, and pulled back, though his hands still rested upon Kili's shoulders. "You tore through that door like a warg on fire! What is it, little brother? Trouble?"

Kili could not maintain his irritation at that point, and, laughing, answered, "If it were trouble, I would not have waited for Dain to finish talking. No, no, it's…" _A few pretty lasses were talking about me in the market. They implied that I was sickly, strange, that I was bad-blooded, that…_ Now, instead of irritation, it was a foul, black mood that descended upon him, previously hidden by anger, but now uncovered.

Yet Fili looked at him with such tender eyes.

"Fili," he said. If there was desperation in his voice, his brother did not note it. "How many orcs did I kill?"

"What?"

"On our journey to Erebor. How many orcs did I kill?"

Fili let go of him that he might stroke his beard in thought. "Hrm. I do not know if I could give you precise numbers, but as you had your bow with you, I believe the only one who may have killed more was uncle. You know that none can best you from a distance." He smiled. "But uncle waded in to the center of every battle. He was so determined to protect us. Why? Did you make a bet with someone?"

His heart somewhat mollified, Kili shook his head. "No," he said. "There was no one. No one at all."


	5. Chapter 5

By the end of that week, Kili could not have told anyone what, precisely, had changed, but things had changed all the same. The nearness of Fili's coronation had sent everyone under the mountain into a frenzy of preparation, ranging from decorating to cooking to making elaborate--and unnecessary--signs. The snow that was piling up outside was cleared as far as the road, allowing visitors an easier time of things, and Kili was suddenly and unceremoniously roped into what he referred to as 'Elf duty.' Their messenger from Lothlórien (whose name, as they learned, was Narufêr) tended to keep to himself, and required little help once he was shown how to ask for food or other necessities, but he was reticent to speak of what his lady Galadriel would want, or, indeed, would actually require. He seemed to think that presuming upon her wishes would be rude, and perhaps another time Kili would have been sympathetic, but with so much going on he found himself feeling more annoyed than anything else.

A great deal of cajoling and demanding later, Kili at last got some basic information: that the Elves, while they would gladly partake of Dwarvish fare, were more partial to breads and vegetables, and that they would sleep two or three to a room, depending on the size of the beds, and that they would be bringing their weapons and armor and would possibly need a place where they could clean and care for their equipment. He also learned that the Lady herself was likely to be the easiest to deal with, for everything that Narufêr said seemed to imply that she was both very wise and very tolerant.

With the aid of Gandalf (and a little help from his brother), Kili managed to secure a dozen rooms of good size, throwing himself into their readying with a single-mindedness that seemed to upset those around him. He rightly did not care, for his other option was allowing himself to be swallowed by melancholy, and he was not so far gone that he wished to see that happen, though there were times when he thought that it would be easier.

And if he avoided the markets, well, his reasons were his own.

The week ended without fanfare, and it was on a quiet and otherwise un-noteworthy morning that the alarm sounded from the front gates: the Elves had arrived at last. A goodly number of Dwarves turned out to watch their approach, peering down from balconies or peeking around corners, but Kili was allowed to stand at his brother's side in the entry hall, with the cold winter wind blowing through their hair. The Elves seemed unbothered by the cold, though they were dressed warmly in heavy cloaks and boots. A wave of murmuring shivered through those assembled when they noted that some of the Elves walked upon the snow, rather than through it.

"A handy trick," Dain muttered, and Fili grunted his agreement. Kili, too, could think of a time or two (or a dozen) when he would have very much liked to be able to walk on top of snow, rather than being forced to trudge through it.

There was a bit more than a dozen in their company, the majority of them openly armed with strung bows and long, delicate-looking swords, all of them keen-eyed and watchful. Some of them were leading riderless horses, while others were, themselves, the riders, but they seemed to be clustered most around two figures in white at the center of their group. As they approached the gates, their faces resolved themselves, and Kili at last looked upon the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood.

They were the first to stop and dismount, each moving easily, as though the snow was not a burden. Their contingent followed, and it took a barked order from Fili for something to be done about the horses. A few Dwarves stepped forward to take the beasts, and, one by one, the Elves relinquished them, until they were all standing within the great doors of Erebor, as composed as though it were a balmy summer's eve.

"We greet you, lord of Erebor and King Under the Mountain." It was the male Elf--Kili couldn't remember his name--who spoke first. His hair was flaxen and fine, and his bearing regal; his face could have been carved from stone, so perfect it was, and so cold. "I am Celeborn, son of Galadhon." He said this last as though it were something quaint, the Dwarvish way of naming sires. Kili felt his hackles beginning to rise, but he was halted by the white lady, who stepped forward. She wore a small diadem upon her brow, and her face was fair as the mountain in Spring, when the flowers bloomed and the snow trickled down the slopes. Beautiful, she was, and white, her skin aglow with the winter's chill and her hair falling about her face like a river of gold, and Kili could see in her eyes a spark of light and kindness, as of a mother looking upon her children. He felt altogether small and unimpressive before these two beings, who shone like the sun and yet were distant and cold as the stars.

"And I am Galadriel," said the Lady, "Daughter of Finarfin. We offer you our service, O king, and request entrance to your grounds."

Fili stepped forward to great them, and if he was not so beautiful and so remote then he was every inch as regal, for Dain had seen that he was outfitted as was befitting a king for this meeting. His beard was woven through with gems and gold, such that it caught the light when he walked, and he wore the velvet robes of his forefathers, and his own armor, the mail mended and polished to a robust shine. A warrior-king, he, like his uncle before him, and it was a warrior's welcome that he extended. Fili did not bother with protracted speeches or grandiose gestures, but rather approached the Lord and Lady at an easy pace, and, upon reaching them, offered his hand. "I am Fili," he said, "son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thror. I welcome you to Erebor, Lord and Lady of Lothlórien." The Elves seemed amused by this, but first Celeborn, and then Galadriel took his hand and held it, testing his strength, and like that the great rift between Elves and Dwarves was, if not mended entire, then at least narrowed.

Kili heard a great sigh spread throughout those assembled, and then the moment was gone. The Elves stepped forward enough that the doors could be closed behind them, and one by one they brushed snow from their cloaks and their breeches, pulling back their cowls to reveal faces as perfectly formed as flowers. They were smooth-cheeked, slender and fair of skin, and when they walked they moved as though they were dancing. They were taller even than Men, but they looked so delicate that Kili did not feel uneasy.

"Kili, to me, please." Fili's voice cut through the general clamor, and Kili hesitated only a moment before pushing his way to his brother's side.

"Here," he said, and at last stood before the Lord and Lady, peering up into their starlit faces and feeling as though his insides were squirming. "At your service."

"As we are at yours," the Lady Galadriel said. "You are…his brother, are you not?"

"I am, good lady. He has given me the task of seeing to your company."

"The fire of Aulë burns within you, Master Dwarf." And then, as if hearing a voice from between his own ears, her words continued: _But there is a shadow upon your heart. What ails you Kili, brother to the king?_

Kili did not answer, for he could not be certain that what he was hearing was real; after a long moment, Galadriel smiled at him, and it was a sweet and gentle expression. "Haldir," she called out, "mellonamin. Tula sinome." To Kili this sounded like gibberish, but a moment later a lone Elf separated himself from the larger group, approaching and then bowing his head. His hair, like his lord's, was flaxen, and very long and straight, such that it hung down around his shoulders like a fall of water. His ears were uncovered, finely pointed (how strange!), but beyond these things he seemed different from the other Elves. Where Galadriel and her ilk could have stopped Kili's heart with how achingly beautiful they were, this Elf was stouter and more solid by comparison.

His nose, Kili noted, was long and remarkable, unlike the thin, spun-glass features of his comrades.

"Arwen ar heru en amin," he said, and bowed deeply. Galadriel's smile widened.

"Stand tall, Haldir." She laid her hand upon the Elf's brow, and he did as she commanded. He was not so tall as she, nor, indeed, as tall as many of the other Elves. Overall he appeared more Mannish, though his steps were light and his bearing refined. "Lord Fili, I present to you Haldir, marchwarden of Lórien."

"You shall find him easier to speak with," Celeborn said, "for he has traveled much, and knows Westron as well as any Man." Haldir visibly straightened at this praise, and inclined his head in Kili's direction. "I believe he will be a great boon to you."

"I assign you the task of caring for our people." This from Galadriel, whose expression had not changed. "Alongside Master Kili. I suspect that there is still much to be done, and perhaps there are yet things we may do to help."

Haldir bowed his head again, and this time looked fully upon Kili. His eyes were a very pale color, such that they seemed like clear water. "Uma, arwen en amin," he said, and finally addressed someone other than his lord and lady. "Master Kili, is it? Come, then, I shall need to know what has already been done, and what we might do ourselves."

Kili felt a frisson of annoyance run through him; so far as he was concerned, the only one who could order him about was his brother. His brother, who…who was staring hard at him. _Do not be difficult,_ he seemed to say, and Kili sighed heavily but jerked his head towards the hall that would lead to the guest quarters.

"Your kin ought to be settled first," he said. "This way. There are beds and blankets enough for all of you. We've not gotten the plumbing altogether fixed yet, but we've plenty of water and firewood, and tubs for bathing…"

"That is good. The road was long, and I at least shall look forward to a hot bath."

Kili was not sure what to say to that, and so he held his tongue. While Haldir's appearance was unusual, his personality so far seemed in line with everything that Kili knew about Elves: haughty, distant, and uninterested in making friends with Dwarves.

Yet the way that the White Lady had looked at him when she had called him over…

Suddenly unsure, Kili turned his head to see if she had glanced after them, but found, to his surprise, that neither Fili nor Lord and Lady remained in the entry hall; there was only the snow brushed from the Elves' cloaks, slowly melting on the stone floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the course of the next few hours, Kili would not say that he got to know Haldir so much as he grew the hate him. The Elf was so distant as to be considered rude by any intelligent creature, and made off-handed comments regarding the cleanliness, learning, and overall culture of Dwarves in general, and, on occasion, the Dwarves of Erebor in particular. Kili could not have told you why this Elf, in particular, bothered him so, for his experience with Elves in general was not a pleasant one, but indeed out of the entire company from Lothlórien, it was only Haldir who managed to get under his skin.

The Elves, as implied by Galadriel, required little, having brought with them their own bedrolls and also a form of traveling bread, one piece of which could apparently feed a grown Man for a week (Kili was not surprised to learn later on that Bombur had eaten four in one go). They were nevertheless given rooms, and to themselves as well, for Kili had overestimated their number, though the Lord and Lady decided to share a room after some deliberation. This prompted a flurry of whispered gossip regarding the sleeping habits of Elves, and whether or not beings who had been wed for so long as Galadriel and Celeborn still shared bedjoys with each other, with some favoring the theory of Elvish promiscuity while others held with their prudishness (perhaps, despite their union, they had never shared bedjoys at all!). Bilbo, in particular, seemed fascinated by the Elves, and made a habit of following Kili around as he was seeing to his charges. Kili did not mind, for Bilbo, through his reading, was more learned about Elves than he, and he knew a very little bit of Sindarin, which came in handy sometimes.

The night of their arrival, the Elves emerged from their respective rooms, bathed and minus their traveling clothes, and instead wearing long, fine-woven tunics and cotton breeches. They did not seem to hold with furs or leathers unless it was for the sake of armor, which Kili found odd, but since the chill did not seem to bother them he did not deign to comment. Instead, he inquired to Haldir whether the rooms were satisfactory, and if there was anything that he might have done. Haldir touched his fingers to his lips, thinking deeply, and then said, "The beds are not so comfortable as we are used to, but they suffice."

Kili deliberated upon the merits of strangling Haldir with his own lovely, foppish hair. Would he be able to get away with it? Would Fili ever forgive him?

Thinking of Fili when his brother was not present inevitably led Kili to a dark place, and so he ceased to ponder it. He offered Haldir a tight smile instead. "That is…good."

Haldir raised an eyebrow at him, his face hawkish and inscrutable. Kili made an excuse that he would not be able to remember later, and then fled in the hopes of finding his brother.

He came upon Fili in the Receiving Hall, where he, Dain, and the Lord and Lady of the Wood were in deep conversation. Kili caught the tail-end of Celeborn's sentence as he entered: "…gift shall be arriving within the week." He paused as Kili entered, and then, seeing his face, continued, "We did not wish to travel with it, for we were pressed for time."

"But will it keep?" Dain demanded, and both Galadriel and Celeborn smiled.

"It shall keep, for the journey and for far longer. 'Twas grown in Lórien, and that which grows in the great Wood does not wither easily."

Dain made a sound that was as much aggravation as it was contemplating, but Kili's attention was not on him, but on his brother. Fili looked…tired. But, even more surprising, he looked _happy_. Kili felt the odd emptiness in his chest like a knife to the gut.

 _What ails you, dear Kili?_ Galadriel did not turn her head, though she addressed him directly. It took Kili a moment to realize that no one else was responding to her; more of what he had heard before, he suspected. Was he going mad? Or was this Elven witchcraft?

_Do not be afraid. Come. Join us._

He approached warily, and Fili finally noted him, his tired face blooming with a grin too energetic for the rest of his body. "Kili! Dain, were you not asking after our guests' comfort? Tell me, Kili, how goes it?"

"Everyone is settled in." He scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. "There were some complaints about the…quality…of the beds, but beyond that they seemed content."

Celeborn's lips quirked up. "I can guess," he said. "It is in Haldir's nature to strive for perfection in all things. 'Tis one of his most admirable traits."

_And one that causes him much misery._

Would it be impolite to mention the Lady's words? Kili had the feeling that this was a conversation between he and her alone, and that to say them aloud would break a great trust between them. He settled for a noncommital hum, which Dain and Fili must have taken for a general disdain for the prissiness of Elves.

"The beds are more than adequate," Celeborn continued. "We could not ask for better." Then he turned to the Lady, and said, "Galadriel, melamin, lle desiel?" Galadriel did not answer for a long moment, but then she smiled and said, "Yes, I believe so. There is still work to be done." She took her husband's hand, and together they bowed to Fili; as they left, first Lord, and then Lady inclined their heads in Kili's direction.

 _Listen_ , came Galadriel's voice. _You will understand his pain._

He did not think he understood _anything_ about Elves, pained or not. Kili watched the pair go, and then turned to Fili and Dain and, after a moment of hesitation, bowed.

"There's no cause for that," Fili said, and quickly embraced him. "Come, walk with me. There is much still to discuss. The Lord Celeborn has told me that they planned a coronation gift, enough fruit and vegetables to last the whole winter! And perhaps with this chill, they won't even spoil! Oh, Dain, thank you for your patience; I will return shortly, and we shall finish that correspondence with the Blue Mountains." Dain bowed deeply, and together he and Fili departed the Receiving Hall. The main corridor was abustle with activity, Dwarves and a few scant Men going about their business. Many paused in their doings in order to bow or otherwise salute Fili, but many more did not even notice them when they passed. This was something that Kili liked about his brother as king: he had heard tales from uncle about Thror, and his elaborate processions, and how obsessed he had been with looking and acting the part of a king. Fili did not care about those sorts of things; he still preferred his old traveling boots to the fine gold slippers that lay abandoned in the treasury.

"Tell me of the Elves," Fili said. "Are they content? Am I to believe the Lord and Lady?"

He seemed so earnest; Kili envied his brother's ability to forgive, to put aside old hurts for the sake of his people. Thorin would not have been able to do so, no matter the cost. If it had not been the gold-madness, Kili thought it might have been his pride that was eventually his downfall.

He launched into an explanation of the preparations that he had made, and they walked together, with Fili listening patiently and making the occasional comment. He praised Kili's efforts, though Kili saw them as nothing special (it still felt nice to make his brother proud), and before long they found themselves in the market district, where, milling amongst the Dwarves, they spotted a few Elves. Not that it was difficult to see them, for they towered over everyone else, and their pale, beardless faces seemed to shine like the moon on a clear night. Many were those who gave them a wide berth, but greater in number were the Dwarves who were attempting to peddle their wares. Establishing a trade route between Erebor and the Golden Wood was a priority of Fili's as well, and he watched, amused and fascinated by the underworkings of a city he had never seen.

Fili was about to ask him what he was thinking, whether he thought it wise to so easily open themselves to the Elves, when he caught a glimpse of a familiar hawklike-face out of the corner of his eye. It was Haldir, of course, browsing the spread of a young tailor, her smaller accessories--fine little gloves and scarves, to keep away the chill--apparently attracting his attention. Fili contemplated telling his brother how difficult Haldir was, how strange and distant, how he made no effort to build any sort of connections with _anyone_ …

But he could not. It was as though he was struck mute for a moment, while at the same time his ears felt overly sensitive. He heard, at once distant and close, several voices speaking with each other in low tones. It took him a moment to realize that these voices came from within his own head, not from his ears, and another moment still before he discovered their source: three Elves who were standing beside a little produce stall, their eyes trained on Haldir, down the small street from them. Fili knew very well that only Haldir and the Lord and Lady spoke fluent Westron amongst their company, yet he could understand their words as easily as he understood Fili's.

"Why did she choose _him_ to lead us here?"

The other two Elves made quiet noises of dissent. "He's a fine archer, to be sure, but hardly the sort to represent us."

"The Dwarves seem not to have noticed."

"You can't expect them to, can you? They all have his sort of face. The protruding nose and the…heavy frame."

"You put it kindly."

"Thank you."

"I would not, were I you. He acts as though he is better than us."

"He is deserving of the Lady's praise, of course. I can think of no better bowman in all of Lothlórien, and there is no one I would rather have at my back." The Elf hesitated a moment, and then added, slyly and in a tone that had Kili's ears ringing with anger, "But he is also no one that I would have in my bed."

The other two Elves laughed heartily, and exchanged more witticisms regarding Haldir's short stature, his weight, his large nose and his round cheeks and his small eyes, until eventually they moved on, and Kili felt a sensation not unlike the ears popping as you climbed a mountain.

_Do you see?_

The White Lady's voice sounded through his head.

_Do you understand, Kili, child of Aulë? I feel his pain like a knife in my heart, but can do nothing. Yet you know his agony. You have felt it yourself. I ask nothing of you, dear one; I only wish for you to see._

Then, like a fog burned away by the afternoon sunlight, the cotton in his ears was pulled free, and he could hear properly again. Fili was staring at him, like he was waiting for an answer to something. Kili raked his fingers back through his hair and sucked in a deep breath.

"I…I apologize. What?"

"I only asked what you were staring so intently at."

Kili blinked, and then swung his head to look where Fili was gesturing.

It was the tailor, with her scarves and her gloves. Without realizing, he had been staring at Haldir, intent and grave.

Haldir, though, was gone, and Kili could not tell when he had left, or why.


End file.
